


Just a Little Touch

by trulyahoeforsherlock



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Developing Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, M/M, POV Sherlock Holmes, TJLC | The Johnlock Conspiracy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-24
Updated: 2018-09-24
Packaged: 2019-07-16 07:25:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16081316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trulyahoeforsherlock/pseuds/trulyahoeforsherlock
Summary: (Hongry bitches ;) )John's working on helping Sherlock in this case. It's long, it's tedious, it's boring, and Sherlock doesn't want anything to do with it except watch his John Watson from afar. If only there was a way to get his hands on him.





	Just a Little Touch

**Author's Note:**

> Tbh, actually a lot softer and cuter than what the summary might put on lol And look! It's longer than that last one I posted :))

He’s sitting, his dark eyes flickering up and down newspapers that are spread out in front of him. Why is he sitting? Well of course he’s sitting, its a fresh new case, he needs to be sitting. He needs to be reading and that, brilliantly enough, that’s exactly what my dear Watson is doing. I study him, my eyes hovering above the laptop rim, just observing the way he moves. He moves subtly, like a lion slithering through a forest, his hands flipping page after page with ease. I find it comforting to watch him. But he’s slouched over, his shoulders are curved inwards. He’s exhausted. His craning neck also looks like he hasn’t been sleeping correctly for a couple nights. How have I not noticed?

John takes a quick breath and presses both hands to his face. “So,” He begins, letting them fall and rest on his knees. “Gotten any farther?” 

“No,” I say slowly, my eyes resting on a single word.  _ Liar _ . I sigh, bringing my head up to look at him again. “So far it’s been the same information, simply regurgitated in different ways. I don’t appreciate the mindset of these people. It’s like she never killed anyone! Except she did,” I pause to bite my bottom lip and scan the paragraphs below. “..plus six more.” 

I roll my eyes and reach for my cup of tea, slow to bring it to my lips and take a drink. It doesn’t strike me until after I’ve set my cup down that John is staring at me, and has been for the past minute. I promptly stare back. “Anything you’d like to include?” His nose flares slightly: he’s thinking, processing what words he wants to use. I square out my shoulders. 

“You’re just, acting different today.” A small smile comes across his face and he tilts his head. “Why  _ are _ you acting different?”

I draw a small circle into my thigh, over and over as I look at him, squinting. He’s trying to figure out my posture, my reasoning for being so off. Fact is, I’ve always been off, and he’s known that. He just always saves for the good times to call me out. “I’m not acting different, John, I’m just fine. Working, breathing. Everything I should be.” 

Like a flame abrupted at my feet, this lightening bolt of fire shoots through my whole body and strikes in my chest. His hands clasp together between his knees, and every cell in my body just wishes they were on me. I squeeze my hand into a fist and blink, firmly holding my solid facial expression. Oh God, what I’d do to have him-

“You don’t look fine, Sherlock.” He interrupts my distracted thoughts, his mouth pronouncing every syllable in my name. I love it when he does that. “You’ve been tapping your foot and you don’t just do that. You do it when you’re impatient.” 

Immediately, I stop the involuntary habit and hold my feet flat with the floor. I don’t dare show he’s defeated me, so I continue to flatley look at him. He raises his eyebrows and purses his lips together, something he did when he was working himself through a situation, and more importantly, when he was doing it successfully. 

John stands slowly, pushing himself off the couch and to a stretching stand. He yawns as he leans backwards, his shirt falling slightly above the line of his pants. Red underwear. A chill comes across me and I flicker my eyes away, I can’t get distracted, no. Seven murders, one woman, and no one believes it’s true. There has to be an end to this story and I’m going to be the one that makes it so.

“What’re you reading now?” 

I jump; John stands right beside me, his jaw just slightly in my blind spot. His arm wraps around the back of my chair as he leans in, his previously dark eyes lit up with interest and color. His right hand sits on the table to hold himself steady as he leans, his chest just grazing my shoulder. His breathing, it isn’t regular, it’s completely out of pattern. I don’t dwell on this for long. 

“Just some articles on the murders, police reports, interviews,” I take in a swift breath and hold it in. “Nothing I don’t already know.” 

“Then why are you still looking at them?” 

“There has to be something I’ve missed.” 

In reality, there was nothing missed. I read everything inside and out and there wasn’t a single piece of evidence I didn’t know already, with a portion of it already deduced, solved, and just waiting inside my mind palace. I just couldn’t give in and tell him that I’d been so distracted by him.

“Well,” John slides away from behind me and turns to head for the kitchen, the low riding sunlight hitting his back. I almost follow him, the urge to grab his waist and pull him in scratching at me. “Do you want another cup of tea?” 

I nod my head, trying to control the gag in my throat, “Sure.” 

Soundly, he crosses the divit that divides the floors between the kitchen and living room, his feet criss-crossing to bring him to the counter. “Same flavor?” He calls.

“Same flavor.” I mimic, my blinks slowing to a close, and I grin just smally. It isn’t long before I hear the clink of spoons and the pouring of sugar. Re-opening my eyes, I watch John’s back as he stirs the drinks, his hair tufted out just above. A longing sense comes over me to run my fingers through it, to feel the softness of which I get to wake up to every single morning. I flex my fingers and curl them into a ball, wishing he’d go ahead and turn already. His posture says he’s comfortable with making me another cup, not like it was some duty that needed to be fulfilled. 

“Here you are,” John says, returning back to me with a warm cup. Taking it, I sip, relief washing across me. “So, what are the plans for the rest of the day?” He asks, patting his thighs with some enthusiasm, though I am unaware of where it’s come from. 

“Well, my dear Watson,” I begin, sitting the cup aside and turning sideways in my chair. “I’ve done all the research I can, piles of this stuff locked up tight,” I tap the side of my head. “I’m assuming you’ve done with what you can about the newspapers?” 

John’s eyebrows lift and a soft  _ oh!  _ escapes his lips as he rushes back to his spot on the couch. “Speaking of that, I found this one article, here let me find it again…” 

He flips and tosses through papers until he stops, sliding one out and bringing it over to me. He points to the bottom right paragraph, “There,  _ A local woman murders seven people _ , mind you, all of which have the  _ exact _ same family background. ” 

John’s clever, clever as it gets, his mouth moving instantaneously as his mind is fully grasping what’s going on here. I feel a chill go down my spine.  _ Do it again _ , I want to tell him,  _ explain the laws of physics to me or something, just speak _ . 

“Excellent.” I grin, almost chaotically at him, and he steps backwards to observe me. A moment of silence...

“There’s got to be something wrong, Sherlock, I can just... _ feel  _ it.” John suddenly insists and I sit up, straightening every curve in my body to a perfect alignment. “C’mon…” 

We look at each other for a long time. “What is it?” He steps towards me, his shoulders almost tilted. “Is it Molly? Lestrade?” He squints his eyes as I grow embarrassed. “Irene?”

“No, no nope,” I jump from my seat and fling my hands up, my cheeks warm as a kettle. I ruffle my hair with both hands and shake my head. “I wouldn’t dare think of that woman again, John.” 

John grins; A genuine smile, the one where dimples pop from his cheeks and his eyes crinkle on the sides. He shakes his head in return and sighs, “Well then what is it? It is the case?” He steps forward just slightly, and I tense up from my ankles to my thighs. “It isn’t a person, is it?” 

John’s arms crossover and his fingers lace his biceps, not too tightly, but the way his hands lay makes me believe his curiosity is running wild. His eyes, they yearn to figure what’s the matter with me, but something tells me he’s already got a strong idea. Maybe it’s the curve in his lips, the soft shade of embarrassment across his cheeks, or the way his eyes flicker from direct eye contact to the floor. 

“It could be. But, as far as you’re concerned, it’s nothing.” My voice deepens as I finish out the sentence, almost into a whisper, and I cough into a fist to regain legitimate noise. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I think there’s a certain officer I need to speak to.”

Every time I need his hands on me, I always seem to deny it for myself. 

I start to take a step towards my coat when John slides over to block my way. The space between our chests are just slightly over a foot now and something inside me makes me grip at the hemming in my pants. 

“You think I’m just going to let you go?  _ Now _ ?” He grins moderately. 

“Why yes, don’t you think it’s important to solve this case?” I tilt my head in slight confusion.

“Well of course, but if you think you’re leaving without me understanding what’s wrong with you, you’d be  _ greatly _ mistaken.” 

I’d never heard John talk so sternly like that, the persuasion in his voice outweighing heavily against my instincts. Vaguely, I wonder if this is how he acted in the military, and I feel another chill. I listen to him breathe from out his nose and realize his breathing is, yet again, irregular. His heart is probably thumping, too. I finally realize this when I begin to hear the sound of my own heart against the drums in my ears. 

I lower my head, “John I,” His eyes meet mine for just a second as he bites on his bottom lip, pondering something. I choke on my words and swallow to untangle them. “I really, um, need to go.”  
Slowly, I step forward, eliminating the foot and a quarter between us and dividing it down to only a few inches. John’s eyes widen as he notices how close we’ve gotten. A shiver goes down my spine as I realize that all I’ve wanted, all I’ve been craving for could be settled right here. Right down my leg, my fingers start to twitch. 

Our height difference shows when I step closer, and I can’t help but have to lower my eyes to look at John. Though almost wanting to hide my face, which I can tell is getting red, I can’t in fear of things getting out of control. 

“Sherlock, come on,” John says at me, his voice softened. I look at him, my face loosening from the monotone flatness. “Stay, finish what you were working on.” 

“John,” I feel the words climb up my throat, ready to burst. I have to tell him. “I’ve had the work finished for over an hour. I’ve just been staring at that screen.” 

John tilts his head, “Why?” He chuckles softly. “If you had it done, why didn’t you tell me?” 

Swiftly, I take a breath in and step just a centimeter closer, John’s eyes aweing up at me. I raise my hand just slightly, and I see his lips slip apart. “Something just told me I shouldn’t.” 

John blinks, his head angled in such a way. He’s looking at me, his eyes flickering from the floor, to my jaw, to my eyes. “Sherlock, you were so needy about getting this thing solved. What’s gotten into you?”  
“John,” I say, my voice lowered. I take the risk.

Slowly, I lift my hand to place it below his chin, holding his face upwards to look at me. His cheeks fall a deep red as I take my other hand and wrap it around his waist, pulling him against me. “I just wanted…” I sigh deeply.

The electric shock of our kiss bolts through me as I connect our lips, my head just slightly dizzy. He pushes against me to kiss me harder, his hands finding their way up to my neck to pull me forward. John’s fingers run through the curls around my ears and I shake, the grip on my left hand tightening. Our breathing mixes as we stand and for once, something softens inside my chest.

As I pull back, I don’t let my eyes fall from his. I keep my face close. “I just wanted that. I just,” I drift a hand across his jawline. “..wanted touch.” 


End file.
